Clove's Games
by MadHatter524
Summary: Everyone knows how it is from the Girl on Fire's point of view. What about from the perspective of an entirely different person - a fifteen-year-old District 2 Career named Clove who just might be in love, too? Clato. T for violence.


_I am running through the forest, my heart pounding not from fear or panic, but from the excitement of the chase. Ahead of me, a boy whose name and district I once knew but didn't bother to remember is panting as he's sprinting, trying not to trip over tree roots. I honestly don't know how he even got this father, but it doesn't matter now. All that matters is that I'm going to kill him and be the victor of the 74__th__ annual Hunger Games. _

_I take a throwing knife out of my well-stocked pack in preparation for the kill. I know that there will be a clearing soon, probably at about the same time that the boy will finally run out of breath, and there will be nowhere for him to hide._

_I have almost caught up to him, and as he sees the clearing, I can clearly see the horror etched on his face as he knows what is going to happen. He looks straight at me and opens his mouth to speak, but the words that come out are not those of a frightened 14-year-old boy who should have died on the first day, anyway._

"Clove, wake up!" says the impatient voice of my mother. I grudgingly open my eyes, but am reduced to squinting as the bright light from outside hits my vision. I quickly smile. Although the dream sadly wasn't reality, something close enough will be true soon. I know that I'm young for a Career – most wait until age 17 or 18 to volunteer – but though I'm only fifteen, my personal trainer told me that I'm the best at throwing knives that she's seen in twenty years. I know that I can win, even though none of the other kids believe me. And today will be the first step in proving them wrong. Today, I will volunteer for the 74th Hunger Games.

I glance at the large clock on the wall and see that it's almost 8:00. Mother has let me sleep late. I normally have to wake up at 4:30 to get to the Training Center before having to get to work at 7:30 in the stone quarries. Mother knows that I am planning to volunteer today, and she supports my decision whole-heartedly. It's been her dream to have a child who wins the Hunger Games, and though I know she was hoping to have a son, complications prevented her from having other children after I was born.

"You don't want to be late for the reaping, Clove. It's at 9:30. I picked out something special for you to wear. Don't be late." And with those final words, my mother leaves for who knows where. We've never been especially close, and neither of us has any problem with that.

I relish a few last warm moments under the blanket, then get up to shower. I look at the dress that Mother set out for me, something that I only wear because it's expected of me on Reaping Day. The dress is dark green, like the leaves on the trees that I will be running through in a week's time, and I have to admit, the dress isn't half-bad. I normally hate dresses, but I don't think I'll mind wearing this one.

I could have warm water in the shower, but I choose water with a slight chill. Most would think that I'm crazy for this – showers are a luxury in the Districts, why not take advantage of all of their features? – but the cold water helps me think.

After drying myself off, I slowly slip on the dress. By habit, my fingers go to put my hair in its regular braid. Knowing that everyone is supposed to be a bit fancier for the reaping, I put a few extra twists in my hairstyle. I also slip on the leather bracelet that will be my token in the arena. I don't wear jewelry, but I don't consider this jewelry. It's tattered and torn from years of almost never leaving my wrist.

Glancing in the mirror, I do not see the Clove Erickson that I normally do, the girl who dresses in the same training clothes as everybody else and never makes a fuss about her appearance. I see a striking girl who is almost…pretty. I smile a little. Pretty has never been one of my goals, but it suits me.

I decide that I might as well head over to the Reaping early – it's not like I have a whole lot else to do. I find that most of District 2 is already there. I sign in with the Capitol lady who looks like she wants to be anywhere but here. I make my way into the section designated for fifteen-year-olds, and can't help smiling. This is it. I've been waiting as long as I can remember, and this is finally it. I'm going to be in the Hunger Games.

By the time Gemma Sawyer, the District 2 escort, walks up onto the make-shift stage in front of the Justice Building, I'm literally shaking with excitement. "Happy Hunger Games!" she chirps. I wish she'd just skip the perkiness and get on with it. "And now to pick the girl tribute!"

She thrusts her hand into the glass sphere that is filled with the names of hopeful girls. She starts to say the name, but even before she can finish, I scream, "I volunteer!" and race up to the stage.

Gemma smiles as I join her on stage. "Well aren't you an eager one! What's your name, love?"

I despise being called any kind of pet name, but I let it slide. "Clove Erickson," I say confidently, flashing a grin at the camera. "And I'm going to win." I don't care if I sound cocky; I'm going to let everyone know that I'm a force to be reckoned with.

"Well, best of luck to you!" Gemma chirps excitedly. I don' even have time to mutter under my breath that I don't need luck before she adds, "And now to pick the boy tribute!"

The name plucked out of the glass bowl is that of a scrawny thirteen-year-old who doesn't even have a chance to move before a voice from the eighteen-year-old section calls out "I volunteer!" The speaker strides confidently up and says his name into the microphone before Gemma even asks it, "Cato Mills."

Gemma gives the camera a smile that I swear must be bigger than her face, and announces to all of Panem, "Good luck to _both_ of our District 2 tributes this year, Clove Erickson and Cato Mills!" Ten points to her for not forgetting my name after three minutes. Maybe Capitol people really do have brains.

My heart is pounding with the same excitement that I felt in my dream.

My name is Clove Erickson and I am going to be the victor of the 74th annual Hunger Games.


End file.
